


Inevitability

by ArcMark



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Angst, Danny Fenton Needs A Hug, Episode: s02e08-09 The Ultimate Enemy, Gen, Heavy Angst, Not Phantom Planet Compliant (Danny Phantom)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23647090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcMark/pseuds/ArcMark
Summary: Everyone knows Dan's a monster. Danny's beginning to think he's becoming one.Or: Danny's life is falling apart, and he's afraid of causing a future he swore to avoid.
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Dan Phantom, Danny Fenton & Jack Fenton & Maddie Fenton, Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton & Tucker Foley & Sam Manson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 76





	1. Agitation

When he dreams, he is left with visions of black, of nothingness, then blinded by white light and haunted by the sound of him screaming.

A ghostly wail, a fear-filled memory, Danny is afraid of himself—his older, more powerful self. The evil version of him from ten years in the future in an alternate timeline.

His eyes open, bloodshot when he leaves the sanctuary of his room for the bathroom, bloodshot when he gazes in the mirror and notes the dark bags under his eyes. He’s lucky he’s managed to get any sleep at all this week; the ghosts keep running amok under cover of night. But one night per week seems like a schedule Danny can keep, unhealthy as it is for him.

He can practically hear Jazz lecturing him, “A lack of sleep stunts your growth.” It isn’t like Danny has much to lose, already being half-dead—technically. For kicks, he goes ghost: black hair turning white, blue eyes turning green, light skin tanning in an instant. Nothing abnormal, if it’s possible to call a boy choosing to die “normal.”

He undoes the transformation, finds himself reaching through the mirror to grab the bottle of sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet. Then, the door opens—in his grogginess, Danny must have forgotten to lock it—and he withdraws his hand, coming up empty for the pill bottle.

In stumbles Jazz—she pauses in the doorway, one foot over the threshold when she notices her little brother standing there. “Oh,” she utters, taking a step back. “Sorry. I’ll use the downstairs.” She pulls the door closed as she exits, and Danny sighs. Minutes pass before he leaves the bathroom, deciding in the end that the pills aren’t worth it. _They only work half the time anyway,_ he thinks, getting back into bed.

Hours pass, and Danny tosses and turns, unable to get comfortable or lull himself back to sleep. When he finally does, it’s for half an hour before his alarm goes off, startling him awake.

When he arrives at school, the first thing Tucker says upon seeing him is, “Dude, you look dead.” Danny gives him a look. “Uh, deader than usual?” Now Sam’s giving Tucker the same look. “Sorry. Bad joke, huh?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the confidence booster, Tuck.” Danny yawns; the next second finds him cringing and pressing a hand against his forehead. “Ugh, now I’ve got a killer headache to boot. Can’t anything go right for once?”

“Well, you _are_ Danny Fenton,” Sam says, “so no.”

“Oh, come on, Sam. As my best friend, I thought you were supposed to be supportive.” Danny frowns, watching Sam shrug nonchalantly.

“I am, but being honest is part of being your best friend too. Right, Tucker?”

Tucker puts his hands up and starts backing away from the two of them. “I’m going to stay out of this. Anyway, we should get to class soon, or Lancer’s going to put us in detention again.”

“Ugh, just what I need. That’s another headache on top of this one,” Danny says, following his two best friends down the hall. _Better avoid more problems if I can help it._ And yet, something in him lingers, tugs at him throughout the day. During class, it distracts him, makes him miss the questions his teachers throw at him. During lunch, it leaves him with a half-eaten meal, and Tucker waving a hand in his face to catch his attention.

When school ends, Danny finds himself on patrol with a short attention span, and more than once, Sam and Tucker have to yell to make him focus. Fortunately, today is a rare day of few, if any ghosts to capture and send back to the Ghost Zone. They apprehend the Box Ghost with ease, wish Desiree into the Thermos, and chase Cujo back into the Fenton ghost portal, but Danny can’t help the unease building inside him.

He reverts to his human form just before his dad enters the basement, greets him amicably before leaving with his friends under the pretense of doing a school project. They head up to his room, deciding to kick back and relax instead of work on schoolwork, but even as he lies on his bed and lets Tucker play games on his computer, Danny finds his mind drifting. Sam riffles through the pages of a book she brought along in her backpack, seated on the edge of Danny’s bed. She’s the first to question his wandering mind, an irritated, “What’s wrong with you today?” leaving her mouth and eliciting a less than enthusiastic response from the local ghost boy.

“Sam, can you give it a rest? I’m just tired.” It’s not a complete lie; he is sleep-deprived, but even as he speaks, Danny knows he’s holding things back. How is he supposed to express what he isn’t sure he feels? He dreams about losing them, losing all of them—everyone he loves. He dreams about being unable to stop the dark version of himself, of becoming him. He dreams and wakes up in the middle of the night with bags under his eyes and a yearning for dreamless sleep.

Danny doesn’t want to turn into a ghost hellbent on destruction, but sometimes he thinks about it: the potential he’s had yet to tap into and what it signifies. Can he truly keep his promise? Or is it a falsity; another thing he says to appease his anxiety but ultimately reneges.

His negativity seeps into the room like poison. Tucker and Sam leave, deciding to let him rest. They bid Danny goodbye, and he waves at them. Once the door closes, he shuts his eyes, falling into the land of nonsense and visions far easier than he’d hoped.

It’s there that Danny finds himself in front of the Nasty Burger again, screaming at the sight of his family, friends, and teacher stuck to an unexpected bomb of heated sauce spices. It’s there that Danny is without aid; Clockwork doesn’t step in to meddle with time. Danny loses. Dan wins.

The explosion, while not real, feels real enough to startle him awake, eyes snapping open to find himself already in ghost form, floating; the first thing he sees is the ceiling, inches away from his face. Danny yells, changes back, falls onto his bed with a thud loud enough to send his mother running upstairs.

“Danny, are you all right?” she exclaims, rushing over to embrace him after flinging open his door.

“I-I’m fine, Mom.” But his words don’t convince her; she checks him over for bruises, scrapes, even traces of ectoplasm from a potential ghost attack. Unsurprising, considering her occupation, but for a moment, Danny winces, fearful of what she’ll find. 

Luck seems to side with him—Maddie finds nothing more than her tired teenage son, chalks it up to him rolling out of bed in his sleep. He goes along with the story she weaves, and she tucks him in and kisses his forehead before wishing him a peaceful nap.

“I’ll wake you up when dinner’s ready,” she says. Danny smiles gratefully and closes his eyes as his mother shuts the door. His sleep is dreamless, and the rest of the day passes without further disturbances, whether from ghosts or Danny’s haunted mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think it's rough now, just wait. It gets worse.


	2. Indisposition

He’s doing it again. He’s staring himself dead in the face, scrutinizing his visage down to the very last molecule for any signs of abnormalities. Danny is afraid of becoming the thing he swore he'd never be. Sometimes, he swears he sees it—the slightest change in eye colour, in his hair, in his teeth. Sometimes, he feels it—the urge to destroy, to use all he has at his disposal to rid the world of his enemies. Frankly, Danny would save time doing so, but Sam and Tucker and Jazz would disapprove. They’d try to stop him, “for his sake,” as if they have any idea what it’s like to be him.

 _Wait a minute._ Danny shakes his head dismissively; his reflection does the same. _What am I doing?_ Seeing the logic in excessive force is a red flag; looking down on his friends and sister is another. Here it is—the newest development in trying not to be like _him._ Like Dan. It means catching the stray thoughts that creep into Danny’s mind, the ones that scare him more than his nightmares. Lately, he can’t stop thinking, worrying, wondering about the what-ifs and maybes; he can’t stop his mind from careening off the tracks like a runaway train, hence why he’s in the bathroom again, hand now outstretched towards the mirror. The doorknob rattles loudly but doesn’t turn. He might’ve remembered to lock the door this time, but still freezes nonetheless, millimetres away from reaching through the reflective glass. Jazz knocks, says, “Danny, are you in there?”

“Yeah,” he replies, startled at how steady his voice is.

“Are you almost done?”

“Uh-huh; just let me wash my hands.” He reaches through, hand seizing the bottle he wants. He pulls it out of the cabinet, takes a pill and washes it down with a cupped handful of cold tap water. The bottle returns to its rightful place; the sink turns off.

Danny retreats to his room, mumbles an apology to Jazz as they pass each other. He decides to make use of his restless mind until he can't think anymore. He curls up in bed, opens a notebook, grabs a pencil, hopes for a head start on an essay due in two weeks. For all his efforts, Danny ends up with two theses, but neither are all that legible in the newly acquired mess that replaces his usually neat handwriting.

 _At least I tried,_ he thinks, eyelids growing heavy and hand dragging across the page. An unsightly line divulges from the words he’s written. Danny doesn’t stir when the notebook slips out of his grasp and lands on the floor with a thud, nor when the pencil soon follows in its wake.

When he awakens, it’s far too early. The sun isn’t up; the sky remains dark. Danny sits up, steps on his notebook as he gets out of bed. The page crinkles under his foot, now sporting a handful of ugly folds. He picks it and the pencil up off the floor and packs them in his backpack before trudging down the hall to the bathroom to get ready for what already feels like a long day.

Later, during lunch, he takes out the notebook from last night and frowns at what’s written inside. Both attempts at theses are nonsense in his tired chicken scratch; neither Sam nor Tucker prove themselves of aid in deciphering his handwriting.

“I guess I shouldn’t try to do homework when I’m falling asleep.” Danny closes the notebook and chuckles, his smile doing little to hide his exhaustion.

Now it’s Tucker’s turn to frown. “Danny, are you okay? You look terrible.”

Sam speaks up with a concerned, “Were you out hunting ghosts by yourself again?”

 _I wish it were that simple._ “Yeah,” Danny says, putting his things away and letting himself fall into the lie. “I was. I didn’t want to wake you guys and get you in trouble. It took me all night to capture all the ghosts.”

“We’re a part of Team Phantom too, dude. If you’re risking your curfew to go ghost hunting, we’re with you all the way. Right, Sam?”

“Right.” Sam and Tucker smile at each other as Danny’s stomach suddenly rolls into knots.

A sharp tug in his gut sends Danny on his feet, makes him grab his backpack and head off for the boys’ washroom with a quiet, “I’ll be fine,” at his friends’ worried cries of his name. He secludes himself in a rush and drops his bag a split second before spinning around and lurching forward, one hand braced on the stall wall while the other grips the edge of the toilet paper dispenser.

Once he’s done emptying his stomach of its contents and sends them down the drain, Danny wipes his mouth, flushed as he slumps against the stall door, heat emanating from his body as he shuts his eyes to stop the world from spinning and simultaneously ease the relentless pounding in his skull.

Minutes pass. Danny exits the washroom to head to the office and call home, but it’s Jazz who offers to take him there, catching a glimpse of his sickly pallor as he passes her in the hall. 

They ride in silence; Danny keeps his eyes open despite the weight pressing down on his eyelids. He wants to sleep, but he’s afraid. What awaits him in the dark corners of his subconscious? The world in shambles at his feet? Or perhaps he’ll find himself forever changed, incapable of returning to whom he once was.

“You have to sleep sometimes,” Jazz says softly, tucking him into bed once they’re home. “If you don’t, it’ll seriously affect your health, and you’re already sick. Do it for me?”

“Okay.” Danny surrenders, letting out a deep sigh through his nose before closing his eyes. He’s out like a light in seconds, and Jazz makes a silent exit so as not to disturb him. His parents check on him periodically once Maddie deduces he has the flu. Nothing plagues his sleep for a week.

It’s a mercy he’s grateful for, but after he recovers, Danny makes a promise to Jazz that he’ll try to get at least a few hours of shut-eye each night when he can.

It’s the least he can do, for her sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't give up on this fic, I promise.


	3. Irritation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May or may not have gone wild and written over 2000 words for this chapter. Hope you enjoy my nonsense!

One week with the flu puts Danny behind in his classes; the homework piles up. “This is so unfair,” he says, but the teachers don’t listen. Now it’s Sunday morning, and he’s struggling to figure out when he can go on patrol. The amount of work he has to do is manageable, but he can’t do both schoolwork and his duties as Phantom and keep his promise to Jazz for a consecutive seven days.

It’s a tough dilemma, and his friends’ requests of “Keep the ghost hunting to the professionals this week,” aren’t helping. Danny knows he can do this; he just has to be smart about it. He can’t let the stress get to him—cracking under pressure is a surefire way to fuck up his precarious plans. So, no quips when on patrol, and certainly no distractions. Every second is precious time; if Danny wants to keep his GPA from tanking, keep his obligations as a ghost hunting halfa, and keep his health in check, he can't allow any bit of time to be wasted.

 _Where’s Clockwork when you need him?_ If Clockwork were here, there’d be no issues. But wanting a simple solution is wishful thinking, and Danny knows Clockwork won’t help him in trivial matters unless they’re crucial to maintaining the timeline.

Wait; it is _his_ timeline. Perhaps he could— _No._ What is he doing, trying to think of a plan to derail his life? Maybe he should take a five-minute break from algebra homework and grab a glass of water and a snack. Clear his mind and destress for a moment. It’ll help in the long run, or so Danny’s mother tries to remind him.

Danny gets up, stretching briefly before meandering downstairs to the kitchen, where Jazz narrowly avoids hitting him in the face. She’s busy with her virtual reality workout routine and blind to her surroundings. “Hey, watch it, Jazz,” he snaps, heading for the cupboard where they store cups and glasses.

“Sorry, Danny!” But the apology doesn’t matter, because as soon as he closes the cupboard and turns around—

“Jazz!” He manages to use his powers just in time to avoid a broken nose, but drops the glass in his hand; it shatters on the floor. The commotion is loud enough to catch his father’s attention.

“What’s going on in there? Is there a ghost in the room?” Jack Fenton’s large frame stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, and Danny can’t help the wince that strikes him. _If only you knew, Dad._

Jazz takes off the virtual reality helmet, giving Danny an apologetic frown as she turns to face their father. “No, no ghost. I almost hit Danny while I was working out, that’s all. I’m sorry, Danny,” she says, glancing at her brother, the rueful look not leaving her face.

Despite the situation, despite not getting hurt in the slightest, Danny’s heart hardens. He settles for a shrug and fetches the small hand broom and dustpan to sweep up the mess. Still standing in the doorway, his father clears his throat, staring at his son expectantly.

“What?” he responds, too brusquely to play it off as mere ignorance. Danny doesn’t look up from his current task of sweeping, the tiny clinks and scraps of broken glass against the floor annoying him further. _Leave, Dad. You’re blocking the path to the stairs._

“Don’t ‘what’ me, young man. Apologise to your sister.” The slightest glimpse in his father’s direction sees him with crossed arms and a stern glare to match his tone.

“No,” Danny says. He rises, dumps the dustpan’s contents into the trash. “She could’ve broken my nose, Dad.”

“But she didn’t mean to; did you, Jasmine?”

“No, but it’s okay; I know Danny’s sorry,” Jazz says, her words falling on deaf ears. “I’ll exercise somewhere else.”

The fridge swings open; Danny scoffs, grabbing a bag of grapes. “I’m not sorry. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Even though his son is telling the truth, Jack Fenton is relentless in the way all parents are when attempting to maintain peace. “Don’t be rude, Danny, apologise.”

“For what?” The fridge door slams shut, and the silence that follows is damning. “I didn’t do anything, Dad. Jazz almost punched me in the face—I’m in the right here. I’m not apologising, and you can’t make me, okay?” He sighs deeply. “I don’t have time for this.”

Minutes go by before he’s back in the confines of his room, a bowl of grapes and a glass of water with him. Time wasted. He was hoping to avoid such a thing, but it seems like life has it out for him, for reasons unknown. A sip of water and a deep breath do little to ease the anger simmering inside him, but Danny shoves his emotions aside and gets back to work.

It doesn’t take long before there’s a knock on his bedroom door. “I’m busy,” comes the automatic response. But whoever’s on the other side is persistent, continuing to knock despite Danny’s initial dismissal. Eventually, accompanied by a groan and the squeaking of his chair, Danny opens the door, seeing Jazz on the other side, fist poised and ready for another round of knocking. “What do you want, Jazz?”

She lowers her hand and takes a breath. “I know you’re under a lot of stress right now, and I’m sorry about earlier, but maybe I could make it up to you somehow?”

“Great idea. You can start by leaving me alone.” He starts to close the door on her.

“No, wait—” Jazz’s pathetic whimper makes Danny open the door, seeing her pull her hand away to see if her fingers are broken. Luckily, they aren’t, judging by the relief that washes over her, but somehow, Danny can’t find it in him to care.

“I’m sorry,” he says, knowing he should say it, a flicker of guilt in his chest. There one second, and gone the next. He glances at his desk, hoping his sister will get the hint and leave him be.

Jazz smiles weakly. “That’s okay. Let’s just say we’re even now. I’ll talk to you later?”

Danny musters something akin to tired commiseration and nods, a thin smile on his face. He closes the door on Jazz’s hopeful expression, slumps in his chair once he’s back at his desk. Two more algebra questions, then he can move on to another class, another assignment. Another problem he wishes he didn’t have to handle.

It isn’t until early evening that Danny’s free from his mental to-do list, free from his menial mountain of schoolwork. _Just enough time to eat dinner and go on patrol,_ he thinks, messaging Tucker and Sam before heading downstairs at his mother’s call of his name. “Coming!”

Dinner is a quick affair. Danny practically inhales his food, managing not to choke on behalf of his own sheer will. He excuses himself, words spilling out of his mouth in the form of a lie about how Tucker wants to show him a new tech device—and then Danny’s outside, he’s going ghost, he’s flying to Tucker’s house and landing at the sight of Sam waving at him.

“Let’s go,” Sam urges once Tucker’s outside. “We’ve been waiting for half an hour already!”

“You guys have been out here for ten minutes, tops,” says Tucker, adjusting his signature red beret. “I saw you both get here.”

“Whatever,” Danny groans, interrupting the potential start of an argument. “Can we hurry up? I don’t want to miss my curfew tonight.” A lie, but telling the truth is a risk he can’t take—he wants to blow off steam, and taking it out on his enemies is a welcome method.

His friends stare at him, confused. “Danny,” Sam starts, “your parents haven’t bothered you about the curfew for over a month. I don’t think they’ll be that worried if you miss it by a minute or three.”

 _Shut up, Sam._ He blinks, startled by the genuine venom in his mind. “You’re right,” Danny says instead, concern and worry staining his thoughts. “Sorry, the extra homework must be stressing me out.”

“School will do that to you.” Tucker claps a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “That’s why I try not to think about it.”

“Maybe I should try doing that.” Danny smiles, all false humour and too-real tension. “You guys ready?”

“Whenever you are,” Sam says, returning his smile with a real one of her own. Tucker nods in agreement, and it’s all Danny needs to grab both his friends by the hand and start flying, the iconic trio finding themselves facing off against the likes of Technus, then Skulker, and even Ember, all while capturing other ghosts.

But it isn’t until the patrol is nearly over that the Box Ghost makes a proper reappearance, just in time to put a new damper on Danny’s nearly-sunny disposition.

“Not you again; I’m not in the mood.” Danny crosses his arms, glaring green eyes and a frown to boot.

The Box Ghost, unused to such abrupt bluntness, blinks. Grins dastardly. Utters the beginnings of a standard, “Beware!” but only manages a “Be—“ before Danny inhales sharply and lets loose, a ghost ray firing from his hand and hitting his opponent square in the face.

“Shut. Up.”

Undeterred, the Box Ghost scowls and sends a kid’s abandoned lunch box flying towards Danny, but a second blast makes quick work of the empty metal container.

“Go back to the Ghost Zone before I make you regret coming here.” A quiet warning with the barest hint of a growl, low enough for the Box Ghost to hear and for Danny’s friends down on the ground not to; he knows they won’t take kindly to the solution hidden up his sleeve once they catch up to him.

At the look of egotistic arrogance on his foe’s face, Danny doesn’t hesitate—a ghost ray surrounds his fist as he aims a particularly hard punch for the Box Ghost’s face, and in what feels like mere seconds, the fight’s over; the Box Ghost is in the Fenton Thermos.

 _What did I just do?_ He pauses for a moment, gazing at his open palm and sensing all the power he holds inside of him. Danny knows what he’s fighting against; he vowed not to become him. And yet, he’s drawn to it: the deeply-buried yearning to let go, let loose, let the world see what he’s fully capable of achieving.

He just let that longing take over. He’s losing. Danny can’t lose. He can’t. If Dan wins, then that means—that means he was right. Dan was right. He’s unstoppable, even with Clockwork’s intervention.

“Danny!” He looks down. Tucker and Sam are running towards him; he lands on the ground and holds up his Thermos. 

“You got him?” Sam asks. Danny nods, hoping they didn’t see him facing off against the weaker ghost. Guilt sinks into his bones; he shouldn’t have hit the poor guy hard enough to stun.

“I think he was the last one,” he says, putting on a relieved smile to hide behind as he reverts to his human form and hands the Fenton Thermos off to Tucker. “We’re done.”

The journey back to Fenton Works is short; Danny has a full half-hour left before his unenforced curfew. He and his friends head inside and down to the portal, releasing the night’s captures back into the Ghost Zone. To reward themselves for a job well done, they raid the kitchen for junk food and pop, then make a beeline for Danny's room.

Once inside, they relax, letting sugar take over where the adrenaline fades. In the wake of the night and the end of the day, Danny reflects on his recent behaviour, frowning at how unlike himself he is. He has less compassion than before, seeing as he felt next to nothing when Jazz’s fingers got stuck in the doorway, and his sense of justice is warped, judging by the way he treated the Box Ghost. He didn’t even try to dissuade himself today—he merely let it happen.

“Hey, guys?” Danny’s voice comes out hoarse. He clears it before continuing, his two friends gazing at him with curiosity in their eyes. “I think—I think I might be turning into Dan.” At their confused expressions, he clarifies, “My evil older self?”

Tucker and Sam share a look of brief concern before regarding Danny again. “I don’t know,” says Sam. “You seem normal to me.” 

Tucker nods in agreement, adding a simple, “You don’t seem evil at all, dude.”

And in that moment, Danny shuts his mouth, letting the silence of his room sweep away his concerns. Disappointment rushes through his veins. Deep down, he knows they can’t help him. They’re only human. No amount of knowledge can make them understand; they aren’t like him. They never will be.

He’s on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thankful for everyone who has read this fic, but I'm curious—why are you sticking with it? I don't exactly update regularly. Anyway, things will get worse! I hope you have a lovely day!


	4. Consideration

It’s Friday night when Danny ventures into the Ghost Zone on his own, seeking out the one being he hopes will have answers in some form—Clockwork. The self-proclaimed master of time, the one who interfered back when Danny was on the verge of evil, and who should be interfering now.

It’s worrisome, the fact that Danny has to seek out Clockwork on his own, but if that’s how the chain of events goes this time, so be it. Perhaps this is a test, and he has to prove his mettle, his strong fortitude. Danny hopes that’s what it is. He hopes it isn’t an oversight on Clockwork’s part, and that the ghost of time won't allow the boy he watches over to become evil.

_Is he evil?_

The question has haunted him since his failed attempt at a reveal, the need to get advice burning steadily within him like a candle. But, much like a candle, the point where Danny no longer finds himself in need of help will arrive, and the flame will snuff itself out. He doesn’t want to get there. Getting there means he’s lost, means Dan’s won, means so many implications that Danny doesn’t want to think about—not now, not ever. Not if he can help it.

Visiting Clockwork may be the only chance he has at life as himself—as Danny Fenton, as Danny Phantom. It’s what he tells himself as he floats into Clockwork’s lair, spying a dented Fenton Thermos as he flies around in search of the time-manipulating ghost himself.

“There’s no way that’s what I think it is,” he mutters, letting curiosity take control as he picks it up. But sure enough, the imprint of his evil self’s face is jutting out of the Thermos, and Danny swears his heart skips a beat as his eyes take in the sight of _this_ —of proof that he can become what he doesn’t want to be.

He puts a hand on the lid, alarms going off in his head at the thought of unscrewing it—

A hand claps on his shoulder. Danny jumps, nearly dropping the Thermos, and whirls around to see Clockwork, currently taking on the form of an elder. “I don’t recommend that course of action.”

“Clockwork,” Danny breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. “Hi. I was looking for you.”

The elderly ghost gently plucks the Fenton Thermos out of Danny’s hand, setting it back on the table. “For what purpose? Surely, you’ve learned not to mess with time?”

“I know I’m not supposed to, but—”

“There are dire consequences to manipulating time,” says Clockwork, appearance changing to that of a child’s. “Your Thermos and its contents are proof of that fact.”

Chest tight, Danny glances at the altered soup container, as if Dan will break out at any second. A strange thrill runs through him—curiosity craving a conversation with the man, wanting to know if what Danny fears are signs are merely symptoms.

But wait—Danny blinks, a memory coming back to him. Dan’s existence is the fusion of two halfas’ ghost halves: Danny’s and Vlad’s. And Danny hasn’t seen Vlad Plasmius in a while, let alone tried to merge with his ghost half. Shouldn’t he be safe? Or is his version of evil something entirely different from Dan’s?

His train of thought breaks when Clockwork floats past, prompting Danny to call out, “Wait! I have a question—am I going to turn out like him?” He jabs a thumb at the Thermos.

To his credit, Clockwork (now an adult) doesn’t flinch at Danny’s desperate tone, merely turning as if he expected such a thing. Given his occupation, he probably expects every move Danny makes. “I can’t say for certain.”

“But I will? Or—I won’t?”

But Clockwork merely smiles, refusing to say anymore. Danny frowns, more confused than when he arrived, and returns home, managing to switch forms just before his mother walks downstairs.

“Oh! Danny, what are you doing down here?”

“Nothing, Mom.” He moves past her—hands shoved in his pockets. “Nothing.”

Minutes later, he’s lying on his bed. Danny stares at the ceiling, mind whirling around the central question in his mind: _How can I be evil if I haven’t merged with Vlad?_

Perhaps evil isn’t something quantifiable. Maybe life isn’t so black and white. Scratch that—of course, it isn’t black and white. Danny is, though, when he’s gone ghost. But the world lives in shades of grey. So maybe Danny’s an anomaly, not meant to fit in when the world is so unlike him.

Whatever the case may be, Danny doesn’t move from his bed, not when his father knocks on his door, asking him if he wants to test out a new Fenton-patented device, not when his mother asks him if he’s already asleep, and not when Jazz opens his door, peeking her head in to check on his well-being.

“Danny?” The concern in her voice is palpable, but not enough to make Danny turn to her, to look his sister in the eyes and ask the same unspoken question he posed to his friends on Sunday.

_Am I different to you?_

He’s afraid she’ll say no, say the same things Sam and Tucker did and cause his heart to sink in his chest, cause his breath to catch in his throat. So he turns his head to the side, away from Jazz, and listens to her footsteps approach his bed, feels the mattress sink with her weight as she sits down, placing a hand atop his. “Come on, little brother, you can talk to me.”

 _I’m not your little brother,_ he thinks. _I’m an impostor. I’m a fraud, and you’re all fools who can’t see it yet._

Danny curls up, pulls his hand out of Jazz’s grasp, turns away fully so none of him faces his sister. “Leave me alone, Jazz.” He doesn’t need to look at her to know she’s got a heartbroken intensity in her eyes, forever focused on protecting him like a good older sister should. But it’s useless—how can she protect him from himself? How can she stop him from crashing and burning when he’s fighting something he can’t even see?

“Danny, what’s wrong? Are you sick again?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Danny spies Jazz reaching over, intending to press her hand on his forehead. He grabs her wrist before she touches him and squeezes. “I’m not sick.”

“Wh— Danny, let go.” Jazz pulls and pulls, but Danny holds steadfast. “Danny!”

“Stop trying to care about me, Jazz.” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, his voice simultaneously like and unlike his own. “I’m a lost cause.”

“Okay, okay, let go already!” Danny doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens, his hand a vise clamped around Jazz’s wrist. He knows his sister. He knows she won’t give up so long as her life depends on it. Danny can’t have that—there have to be consequences. Jazz has to stop caring; she’ll only get hurt otherwise.

When he breaks her wrist, there is no guilt in his heart—no remorse to weigh him down. When she whispers his name in pain as he lets go, he feels nothing. When she asks, voice trembling, “Why did you do that?” he doesn’t answer. It’s wrong, him injuring his sister, but Danny knows what he’s doing is for the best; Jazz can’t see that.

Jazz cradles her wrist with her other hand, tears in her eyes. She steps away from Danny, away from his bed and out of his room without shutting the door. Through the open doorway, he overhears the faint sound of her informing their mother about her injury (and subsequently lying about a bad fall), hears Maddie gently scolding Jazz for being careless, hears the front door open and shut as the two leave for the hospital.

Danny is alone in his room, staring up at the ceiling as the silence engulfs him. He falls asleep still dressed in his casual wear, wakes up and sees Jazz at the kitchen table the next morning, her wrist now held together with a splint.

Blue eyes meet across the table, Jazz shooting him a weak, tired smile. The sight of it makes Danny sick to his stomach, because god, when will anyone learn?

He can’t be trusted. Not anymore. Not ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's probably gonna be the last update in a while. New term/school year starting up. Y'all know how it is.


	5. Intimidation

Weeks pass. Jazz’s wrist heals slowly, getting put in a cast once the bones realign. She keeps her distance most of the time, only speaking to Danny when it’s necessary. “Can you pass the salt?” during dinner, “move, please,” when he’s blocking her path; the like. When she finds the bathroom door locked at 3 AM on a Sunday and realises Danny’s taking a shower, she doesn’t say a word. Jazz leaves him alone. There are no questions—no concerns or mini-lectures like usual, just dead silence that stings until sunrise.

Danny knows it’s for the best that Jazz doesn’t talk to him, that she distrusts him, but he can’t deny that it hurts. She’s his sister, for crying out loud. She’s the only member of their family who knows about his being Danny Phantom. Being unable to talk to her about his after-school and nightly escapades widens the chasm he's created and leaves him lonely; Danny has Sam and Tucker, but they don’t think he’s done anything wrong. They don’t know how bad his dreams have gotten. They don’t know how much he’s changed.

And frankly, Danny’s changed little, appearance-wise. He's still tired and fed up like usual, perhaps more so, as of late. But it’s inside and underneath—that's where the differences lie. He’s losing himself. He's eating less, sleeping less, yelling more. His grades are slipping again; Danny doesn’t care. Never mind the fact that immense stress is what caused his dangerous—can he even call Dan evil anymore?—identity to manifest in the first place; Danny’s not the same consequential outcome. He’s a new breed; he’s something unexpected. At least, that's what Danny believes.

It's deplorable, his circumstances. Fighting his urges is the natural thing to do, but oh-so-tiresome. Most days, Danny falls asleep in his classes, waking up to see teachers like Lancer frowning down at him and sticking him with detention for ‘failing to pay even the slightest amount of attention. Again.’ Suffice it to say, Danny’s losing favour in his parents’ eyes, and his best friends aren’t as patient as they once were, either.

The question comes during lunch after Danny arrives late from having to finish a math test, and after he nearly dozes off into his meatloaf. “Come on, dude, you can't be ghost hunting every night, right?”

“Huh?” Danny meets Tucker’s query with a tired blink and a stifled yawn. “Sorry, Tucker, I wasn’t listening.”

Sam, nearly done with her meal, sighs. “When do you ever listen now, anyway?”

Danny frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it’s just that you’re constantly flouting everyone’s expectations. Ours included.”

Plastic fork pointed directly at her, Danny scowls. “Since when do you say words like ‘flout?’”

“Since you stopped reading the chapters we were assigned last week,” she retorts. “And the week before that, and the one before that. I mean, seriously, Danny? I thought you cared about your grades.”

Danny’s grip tightens on the fork. It takes every bit of self-restraint for him to keep his mouth shut and avoid yelling, because how dare she. Sam doesn’t know what she’s talking about; she can’t possibly imagine the ordeal he’s going through. “Well, you seem to, so why don’t you just do all my homework for me?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe because that’s cheating. Isn’t it, Tucker?” Sam looks to the boy seated beside her for support.

“Um, yeah. It’s cheating. You shouldn’t do it, man.” Tucker shoves a bite of what passes for meatloaf into his mouth.

Danny scowls, the look so unlike him it brings forth the sight he’s been waiting for: Tucker and Sam, as uncertain as they were the day he accidentally stole the answers to the C.A.T. In turn, his scowl edges into a smirk. _Now, why can’t they look like that more often?_

“Dude, you can’t be serious.”

In response, a derisive scoff. “I wasn’t being serious, Tucker. It was a joke! And even if it wasn’t, so what? Why shouldn’t you do it? Because it’s wrong?” For kicks, Danny lets his eyes momentarily glow green, earning an uneasy glance from Jazz, who’s seated two tables away. “It’s only wrong if you get caught. You guys know things have been hard for me lately—can’t you help me out?”

Unsurprisingly, it’s Sam who answers for the both of them. “No. Danny, if you can’t handle two things at once, just focus on one of them. Focus on school. Let other people hunt ghosts, or at least stop doing that alone.”

“Oh yeah? Well, guess what, Sam: I—“

Screams ring out from the other end of the cafeteria. Danny groans before he gets up, only to duck under the table for cover as he transforms. Then, he’s flying towards the school’s attacker—the Lunch Lady, who summons all the meat in the cafeteria towards her, growing in size as it takes on the form of meat monster armour.

It doesn’t matter; he fires ghost ray after ghost ray, going intangible to avoid an onslaught of meats flying towards him. Danny casts a cursory glance around, spying his friends still present where he left them at the table. Food trays in hand, Sam starts running over, Tucker quick on her heels despite being empty-handed.

Once close enough, she flings the empty trays at the Lunch Lady like frisbees, which hit with dull thuds and bounce off her makeshift armour. In retaliation, a table's thrown in Sam’s direction. Tucker tackles Sam out of the way, and Danny takes this—his opponent distracted—as his chance for harsh offence.

Aside from him, the Lunch Lady, and his best friends, the cafeteria’s empty. In other words, he’s unencumbered, lacking in unnecessary worries about public safety that usually crowd his mind.

Tangible once more, Danny grits his teeth and flies forth, stopping just before he’s due for a head-on collision with the former cafeteria worker. And a second later, it’s all well-timed punches, kicks, dodges, and even a nowadays-rare quip. But the world plunges into darkness, then lights up, sound gone, and as soon as the moment comes, it ends like all of Danny’s dreams do: with a scream.

It isn’t a wail; it isn’t a shriek, it’s not even remotely the same, for no sound leaves his mouth. Instead, it’s Sam—it’s Tucker, they're whose voices fill his world. It’s the two of them shouting at him to stop, to let go because "she gave up, Danny!” and, “just let me put her in the Thermos already!”

The haze surrounding him clears. The results are in: Danny’s gone too far. The Lunch Lady’s lost her armour and shrunk down to human-size; all that remains is a thoroughly electrocuted ghost who stares at the Thermos in Tucker’s grasp like it’s her one saving grace.

 _I did that._ Danny gapes, lowering himself to the ground. He stares at his hands as he goes from Phantom back to Fenton. He searches his heart, finding a glimmer of joy in the face of his fear, and shit—he’s trembling. His hands clench into fists as Tucker captures his mess of an opponent, but it does little to stop Danny’s shaking.

The Thermos gets capped, and the resulting silence is loud. Deafeningly loud. All the words sitting on his tongue dissolve in the wait, and Danny doesn’t meet anyone's gaze. The looks he knows are on his friends' faces, awaiting him, full of shock and fear and uncertainty, will throw him overboard on the sinking remains of a ship he calls hope. So his fists drop. So he turns and walks away, the cafeteria door shutting with a short click behind him. So he’s alone, all alone.

So Danny doesn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! :)


End file.
